Long Day
by doesnotloveyou
Summary: After a tiring mission all Agents Romanoff and Barton want are a few peaceful hours of relaxation. However, they have to share those hours without getting on each other's nerves.


It's been a long day and a long fight. She's made it back to the hotel quietly, their mission finished and done for. Safe for the moment and with unsettling weather happening around the base, SHIELD has informed them they won't be picked up until later that night.

Hot, sticky, and exhausted, Natasha Romanoff gets into the room first, having agreed with her partner to split up and meet there when they were sure the coast was clear. It was practically pointless, but Romanoff was not in the mood for unexpected visitors. It had happened before. Bolting the door steadfastly behind her she proceeds to peel off her red sundress, kick out of her already snapped sandals, and grab a clean shirt and jeans out of her duffel. In the bathroom she groans out of the tight, sweltering Kevlar that was screwing with her silhouette and throws it on the counter next to her clean clothes. She looks at herself in the mirror, her lovely curves, flushed skin, brilliant curls, and sneers. _All that and the shoes are what nearly killed me. _She glances at her blistering feet, red lines in her skin from where the stiff, new straps had bit into her every step. Scowling she steps into the shower and turns on the coldest setting to wake herself up. She shivers until the water reaches her toes and finally she relaxes.

When she's changed into her clean clothes and noticed the odd noises in the apartment outside she walks out into the room. Her partner is flopped out on his back on the bed, arms and legs spread everywhere, fast asleep. She walks past the bed to her duffel, toweling off her hair and throwing the damp cloth on his face. He doesn't make a sound as she bends over her bag, her back to him, but the towel lands on the chair next to her somehow. She smacks her lips and dropping the lip balm back in the travel case, turns to him, hand resting on her hip. He's in the exact same position but he's awake now and looking at her. She just puts on her deadpan face. He pats the pillow next to him with a dopey smile growing across his features. Her deadpan face reaches deeper levels of deadpan. She walks past the bed again, then turns and intentionally sits on the other side. "Are you going to shower?" she asks like one asks a child, raising one eyebrow and enunciating clearly. "Nah," he says, turning over on his side to face her, "I think I'll just hang out for a little while,"

"Take a shower,"

"Nope,"

"Seriously, there's man-stink all over my bed now,"

"Oh so it's _your_ bed now is it?"

"Yes, get off."

He shakes his head and turns over on his stomach, "Nope." He smiles into the pillow, knowing his time is short, but sweet. Then she's forcibly turning him over and…unzipping his vest? "Hey,"

"It's a hot day and you look like you're dying in that," she says sweetly.

She opens his vest up and- He rolls off the bed quickly, visibly disturbed, and starts heading for the bathroom. She gets up and removes the top blanket completely, throwing it on the floor in front of him so he nearly trips. Then she flops down on the bed and picks up the remote as he stomps into the bathroom. She smiles deviously to herself as the shower water turns on and wonders how long it will take him to notice. Ten minutes later the tap turns off and she waits. There's a groan, "Natasha!"

"Yeesss?"

"Did you- you used every towel, great."

The assassin is thoroughly pleased with herself, "My bad!" she says aloud, giggling inaudibly like she does, as he grumbles away. "Think you could at least bring me some dry clothes?" he complains. She pops up off the bed and grabs some things from his bag. She knocks on the door, it opens a crack, and she shoves the clothes at the arm that comes out before the door slams shut again. "You're welcome!" He grumbles something under his breath again, under the overhead fan and she just keeps smirking to herself.

He comes out and she's curled up on the bed watching TV. She tries not to look at him because she knows she'll laugh. It shows because he says, "Shuttup," and she lets her lips quirk. "Wet T-shirt contest, Barton?"

"You're nasty, you know that?"

"You must've lost."

His clothes are sticking to him and his hair is still completely wet. She rolls her eyes, "It's like you didn't even try, honestly." He disregards her, noticing the remote control in her hand, "Anything good on?"

"Here?"

He laughs shortly, glancing at the screen and nodding his head. Then he looks at her and suddenly smiles.

"No!" she warns, but he's already flopped on the bed and laid his soggy head on her pillow and wrapped a big damp arm around her, pulling her against his wet shirt. "C'mon I just wanna hug-" he cracks up as she buries her knuckles in his ribs and he loosens his grip.

"You're like a giant dog!"

"Yeah, but I smell better right?"

"You really want an answer to – Get off!" she rolls over to the edge of the bed and sits up, pulling at her shirt to air it out. She bickers at him in Russian, but he just smiles smugly and takes over the bed again stretching his arms and legs out in all directions. "God you're gross," she nags. "I love you too," he says contentedly as he closes his eyes, ready for sleep. "Hey." She furrows her brows as she grabs the remote again and clicks off an annoying program, "What?"

"What happened to your shoes?"

"The sandals? Ugh, don't get me started,"

"They killing your feet?"

"Yeah," then she smacks him on the stomach when he chuckles.

"Ow!"

"And that dress was your idea, stupid piece of crap it was,"

"Hey, it fit the appearance-"

"It didn't fit the Kevlar. And I had more trouble from those shoes than any stray bullets-"

"I did _not_ pick out your shoes."

She flips her legs back onto the bed, resigned to her damp clothes, but stays a few inches away from him, "Whatever."

His eyes are still closed and he raises an eyebrow, "Bed's all wet now,"

"I noticed,"

"They're coming in…what…four hours?"

"Five."

He grunts and rolls over on his side. "Goodnight," he sighs and flicks off the lamp.

The air conditioning is freezing, but she's too burnt out to get up and turn it down. So, she pushes all the really moist parts of the covers over on him and tucks herself under the edge of the sheets, "Next time we get two beds,"

"Agreed,"

"And go someplace cooler,"

"With better TV stations,"

"And no hit-men,"

"Then I guess we won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

She kicks him through the covers and he grins into the pillow.

"Smartass,"

"Jus' sayin',"

"Go to sleep, Clint."

He yawns, thinking about how nice she looked in the dress, didn't even notice the Kevlar. "Will do, Tasha."


End file.
